


Speedway.

by xerxezra



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, I just can't resist, NSFW, Smut will be in Chapter 2, connor poor bby let someone help you, dealing with death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-20 06:01:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15527688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xerxezra/pseuds/xerxezra
Summary: Connor must come to terms with an inexplicable loss, and becomes all too aware of the mortality of humans. Unwilling to face his pain, he shuts you out in favor of capturing the perpetrators, and in doing so, inadvertently puts a strain on the relationship. What will it take to bring your loving android back?





	1. Chapter 1

_...You won't sleep_  
Until the earth that wants me, finally has me  
Oh you've done it now  
You won't rest  
Until the hearse that becomes me, finally takes me  
Oh you've done it now  
And you won't smile  
Until my loving mouth, Is shut good and proper  
Forever…  
**\- Morissey**

He failed his mission.

One stupid, irrevocable miscalculation, and the criminals had managed to escape in a flurry of gunfire. 

But that was not his biggest failure. 

No, his biggest failure, his biggest _mistake_ , was listening to his hardheaded partner, and in doing so, had signed Hank’s death warrant.

And now his longtime friend was bleeding out on the filthy ground of an abandoned warehouse, struggling to catch Connor’s attention as he aimlessly, monotonously recited words of comfort — _everything will be okay, don’t make any unnecessary movements, help is on the way, do not close your eyes, do not close your eyes_ — except those words weren’t even for Hank anymore, they were for _himself_ , because the stifling pressure of fear clawing its way through his processor, forcing up warning commands from the phantom pain — _is this what pain feels like?_ — frightened Connor far more than anything he had ever experienced.

More than the struggle to succumb to deviancy, more than the internal battle against Amanda’s corruption, more than the crippling realization that he’d fallen in love with you, more than _anything_.

He was never meant to work through loss. It was inconceivable. To experience loss meant failing his mission, and here he was again, stuck in a mental for-loop of programming, a command continuously executed with no end in sight, no escape. 

A feeble slap dragged him out of his panic, if only for a moment.

“Listen, kid —“ Hank paused with a grimace, sucking in a deep breath before continuing. "It’s the end of the line for me.”

“Shut the hell up and stop _talking_ ,” Connor hissed. “The medics are almost here. Just — just hold on for a little longer!”

And that got him to stay quiet, for whatever reason. It must have been pain; Hank would never resist the opportunity to berate him for being weak otherwise. The silence was profoundly unnerving to the android, forcing him to hone in on Hank’s labored breathing as his lungs filled up with blood, and the distant sound of police sirens amidst a cacophony of clanking industrial machinery. 

“They’re close, Hank,” he said with a tinge of urgency, blindly searching out his hand to feel the heat of a human to ground his senses and watching the doorway with laser-focus attention, as though it would make the medics come faster. “You’ll make it, okay? Don’t close your eyes, don’t —“

“ _Connor_.” A sharp pull on his hand, a shocking pressure of brute strength that shouldn’t have come from a mortally wounded person. He reluctantly tore his gaze away from the door and looked at the old man.

“Hank,” he pleaded softly, like a desperate request. 

But no amount of begging or reassurance would close Hank’s bullet wounds. No sloppy first responder’s attempts would recover the lost blood, or fix a collapsed lung. 

_End of the line._

Tugging on his tie forced him closer to Hank’s bloodied face, twisted and so, so _weary_. Aged wrinkles and dark bags under his eyes, a hint of crookedness in his aquiline nose from that time he got sucker punched at a bar, so many memories etched into that face. Memories they had made together throughout these wild years.

And the haunting pallidness contrasting with the scratches on his skin would be the last reminder, the last memory of their victories and losses. 

“Connor —“ A momentary pause as Hank violently coughed, a hand coming away with speckles of blood. He glanced at the redness with unfiltered hate, yet when he met Connor’s concerned stare, all of his anger seemed to melt away into resigned somberness. “— _son_.” They stared hard into each other’s eyes, words left unspoken projected through the stillness. Hank tightened his hold on the tie. “Promise me,” he whispered. “Promise me you’ll get those motherfuckers. _Every last one of them_ , you hear me?”

“I—“

“ _Promise me!_ ” he roared, and Connor had to hold him in place by the shoulders to ease him back. 

“We’ll get them together,” Connor said forcefully.

“For fuck’s sake, kid, don’t…” All energy seemed to leave Hank as he slumped further against the wall. “Don’t say dumb shit like that. Just —“ Another tug on his tie, weaker this time. Another coughing fit, another grimace and deep sigh. “ _Please_."

Connor closed his eyes and grit his teeth. This couldn’t be it. “You’re a fighter, Hank. _Fight_ this. Don’t — you — you can’t leave me alone like this! This isn’t how you’re supposed to die! _You can’t die!_ ”

“Easy there,” Hank said softly. “You and I, we — we’ve been through some fucked up shit, haven’t we?” He closed his eyes and let the hand holding Connor’s tie finally slip away, landing carelessly at his side. “This ol’ dog’s gotta meet his Maker. And you —“ He weakly opened his eyes. “You gotta keep going. For me, Connor. Keep going for _me_.”

That had done it. Something had irrevocably changed in Connor’s programming, a single shift in perspective that clamped down on his wavering resolve.

And as Hank’s life slowly came to an end, his labored breathing little more than a whisper, Connor held his hand one last time and made his final promise.

He will continue living, for Hank. He will gather his strength and find the perpetrators, for Hank. 

He will succeed, for Hank. 

“I will finish the mission,” Connor said moments after his partner had taken his last breath, in that cold, unyielding tone he had spoken with ages ago, before he had ever considered the possibility of being anything more than a machine.

Machines did not need to cry or feel anger, mourn the loss of their friends or suffer from life’s unexpectedness. They completed their assignments with singular focus, and that is what Connor needed. 

Nothing mattered more, he thought to himself as he rose to his feet, stepping aside for the frantic medics to load Hank onto a stretcher. 

_Nothing mattered more than completing the mission._

-

Hank was laid to rest beside his son, forever at peace, with his reason for living right next to him.

The funeral had been a somber, quiet affair. Despite Hank’s less-than-stellar track record with the precinct, many officers had undoubtedly felt the resounding loss of one of Detroit’s best detectives. They gathered in droves at the ceremony to pay their respects, a sea of uniformed sentries honoring their fallen comrade. 

The burial was a more private matter. Only a personal few remained to see the casket lowered into the grave, and truth be told, you rather preferred it that way. 

Hank was the proudest, most stubborn man you had ever known, and no doubt would have bitched and moaned about the unnecessary attention. _Just throw my body into the dirt and be done with it_ , he would have harked, and Connor would have endlessly refuted the suggestion.

Connor. 

He stood beside you as you held his hand, a pillar of unyielding stoicism watching the workers shovel rain-soaked dirt into the grave. 

The crowd had all but dispersed by now, Captain Fowler gingerly clamping down a hand on Connor’s shoulder and nodding farewell to you, leaving the two of you alone in the chilling rain. 

Neither of you spoke. All that could have been said, had been said. You were entirely cried out and numb from hours of emotional distress, having sobbed relentlessly as Connor held you protectively in his arms. 

You absentmindedly stroked your thumb along Connor’s skin, waiting for him to break the silence. 

But he remained lost in his own thoughts, his LED light a perpetual swirling yellow vortex that belied his mood. The light had been in a constant shift between yellow and red throughout the days after Hank’s death. You _knew_ Connor was hurting, and yet any attempts to work through his pain was met with stone-cold denial. 

So you didn’t press the issue. 

A biting gust of wind sent shivers down your spine, and you huddled deeper into your coat as Connor shielded you from the rain with an umbrella. 

_What should I do, Hank?_

Only the pattering of raindrops answered back.

-

The silence had stretched all the way throughout the drive back home, and by the time you finished shuffling out of your soaked clothing, the stifling awkwardness was truly unbearable.

In an effort to add some sort of liveliness to the atmosphere, you elected to turn on the television. 

Except you were met with a blaring news report of Hank's funeral. 

“ — _gathered to pay their respects to Lieutenant Hank Anderson, a renown detective hailed for his long history of combating red ice smugglers —_ “

You snapped out of your momentary stupor and angled the remote to change the channel, but Connor stopped you with a wave of his hand. He still insisted on keeping quiet, staring at the television and offering you absolutely no explanation for why he would want to watch an outsider’s perspective on his personal tragedy. 

You hesitated, unsure of what your next move should be. But the empty look on Connor’s face forced you to gravitate towards him, stepping in front of him to make your presence known. 

He stubbornly refused to meet your searching eyes, staring over the top of your head at the droning news. 

“ — _suspects are at large, and the investigation is still ongoing_ — “

You cupped his face in your hands, smoothing your thumbs along his cheekbones. The anguish in his eyes, so deeply haunted and unable to look at you, broke your heart completely. 

In that moment, Connor’s humanity was warring with his programming harder than ever before. You felt the tightness of his clenched jaw, the strain in his synthetic body from holding back his pain, and the unspoken regrets he carried with him, on the verge of spilling over.

You ran your fingers through the hair at his temple, angling his head down to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Talk to me, baby,” you said softly. 

“What do you want me to say?” he sullenly replied, voice hoarse from disuse. He closed his hands over your wrists and pulled away from your touch, and you grabbed onto the lapels of his suit to keep at least some form of connection between you.

“ _Anything._ Anything at all. You can’t keep holding it all in —“

“Don’t,” he cut you off, flickering his gaze to you at last. “Please, don’t.” The grip on your wrists momentarily tightened. “I can’t…” A brief look of pain crossed his features before he quickly stamped it down, squaring his shoulders and hardening his stare. “There’s no use in discussing it. Right now, my priority is solving this case. I shouldn’t let my personal feelings get in the way of that.” 

You shook your head as he spoke, anxiety coursing through your veins. “I’ve never seen you like this, Connor. This isn’t _healthy_!”

“Maybe.” He finally dislodged your hold on his suit, and this time, you didn’t fight him. “It doesn’t change the facts. If I think about the past, then I’ll never move forward.”

“The way to move forward is to _confront_ your past.”

Your plea fell on deaf ears. Connor busied himself with straightening out his tie, avoiding your eyes once more. “I need to make things right, and that includes letting go of any distractions. Every time I see something that reminds me of him, all of the pain rushes back. I can’t keep _living_ like this.” He paused, angling his head down until a stray lock of hair fell over his forehead. You longed to shift it back into place. “His last words… were that I need to keep on living,” he whispered. “And I can’t live unless I let it all go.” 

A sense of chilling dread clawed its way into your heart, sinking in its hold and twisting your insides until they felt like lead. “What are you saying?” you softly asked, your voice wavering in panic. 

Silence again. 

“Connor —“

“I —“ His LED light flickered red. “I need some time alone.” 

You furrowed your brows in confusion. “I thought I’ve done a decent job of giving you space so far…” 

“You did, but —“ he cut himself off with a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “When I’m around you, I feel weak. Like — like pieces of me start to unravel.” You opened your mouth to interject, but he cut you off immediately, starting off on an agitated walk as he spoke. “Don’t you see? I can’t allow myself to be distracted right now. Hank’s murderer is running free right this second, while my partner is rotting in the ground.” You flinched at his harsh words. “I have to find that son of a bitch, and _that’s_ what I need to focus on. _Nothing else matters!_ ” 

_Not even you._

Those unsaid words cut through you like bullets. You felt the implications immediately, whether he had meant it or not.

The confession hung between you two, a stifling smog of bitter emotions that threatened to drag you down together. 

You wanted to cry, or slap him back into reality, or do _something_ to make him open up to you. But this was not something you could fix, you realized. 

So you stepped away, unable to look at him as you forced out, “I understand.”

Your answer must have surprised him — his stoic expression softened, eyes no longer a cold, hardened brown, but warm and naive, just like the Connor you always knew. He took a stiff step towards you, his mouth opening ever so slightly as though the words were stuck in his throat, unable to surface. 

You waited with baited breath. 

But you were promptly disappointed. 

His old self came and went in a flash, replaced by this newfound detached persona. Gone was the warmth, the loving, welcoming presence that grounded you throughout the years. He approached you, and for a moment you didn’t know whether to be frightened or relieved, yet he sidestepped you with aloof carelessness. 

“Wh-where are you going?” you hurriedly asked, heart thumping in your chest as you frantically followed him. 

“To the station,” he deadpanned, and without so much as a backward glance, went out the door with a resounding slam.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nsfw at the end, thanks for reading! <3

You hardly ever saw him anymore. 

The days were filled with rare glimpses of Connor trudging around the offices, and more often than not you felt his absence during the bleak, monotonous moments of being stuck doing desk work. He was out in the field most of the time, following any hint of leads that may cross his path. Hundreds of suspects interviewed, countless viewings of potentially connected crime scenes. Your coworkers gossiped relentlessly about his singleminded focus and determination. 

You, on the other hand, grew more and more concerned about Connor. While you were very familiar with his tenacious persistence in solving cases, this was something else entirely. 

His absence at work might have been easier to bear if he just came _home_ once in a while. 

But he never did. 

You tried to shove aside your growing feelings of abandonment. If Connor needed to fixate on the case to come to terms with his loss, then you would not get in the way of his mission. 

Thoughts of what Hank would have said resurfaced occasionally, to the point where, in your deranged mind, you were having full-blown arguments with his lingering ghost. 

_”That dumbass is gonna get himself killed,”_ Hank would grumble. _”I just fuckin’ know he’s out there being reckless."_

To which you would say, _”When have you ever managed to convince him to do something otherwise?”_

_”Ain't my job anymore, kiddo. You’re his voice of reason now."_

Bitter tears welled up in your eyes. You quickly scrubbed them away with the heel of your palms. 

You tried not to take Connor’s absence personally. 

Yet the pain grew with each passing day.

What if he never came back to you? What if he decided that being with a human was far beyond anything he could handle? 

You tried not to think about that.

-

Connor’s abandonment had not gone unnoticed.

Particularly by Detective Reed, leaning against the doorway of the break room with crossed arms and that punchable, self-assured smile. 

“What a surprise,” he mockingly teased. “Alone once more, eh? Damn robot not attached to your hip anymore?”

You sighed, busying yourself with preparing your coffee. “Fuck off, Reed."

“Nah.” His voice grew closer as he sauntered over to you. The very thought of him anywhere near you made you tense up. “Wouldn’t wanna miss the opportunity,” he finished, his breath fanning over your ear.

You jerked away in disgust and grabbed your coffee, turning to glare at Reed. “What _opportunity_?”

“Oh, come on — don’t play coy.” He slowly followed you around the kitchen area, like a wolf stalking his prey. “Everyone knows that dickless tin can is too busy moping over Anderson and playing hero, while you’re over here, little miss _saint_ , all by your lonesome self.”

“This isn’t your business,” you sneered. "And don’t you fucking _dare_ disrespect him like that.” 

“Whoa,” he held up his hands. “What’s with the hostility? I’m just tryin’ to look out for you.” You nearly scoffed, biting back a retort. “I mean, it ain’t _fair_ , is it? Him tossing you aside like that.”

You stilled, momentarily overcome by the sharp sting in your heart. “It’s only temporary,” you said softly, willing for your statement to be true. 

“Fuck, that’s just _sad_.” Reed took advantage of your weakened state, planting himself right in front of you and placing a hand against the wall beside your head. “Well. If you ever get tired of waiting around for a _machine_ ,” he leaned in closer, “You know where to find me. A living, breathing _human_ who wouldn’t treat you like shit.” 

You snapped out of your daze and narrowed your eyes. “Believe me, Detective. He’s far more human than _you_.”

A hurt look crossed his face, and you almost, _almost_ felt ashamed. But before you could say anything more, Reed pushed away from you with a growl, eyed you up for a heartbeat, and left you in bitter silence.

-

Connor is at the office today.

He’s right across from you, updating Captain Fowler on his latest progress. 

Your stomach is doing flips, and your hands can’t stop shaking. You try to focus on your computer screen, but your eyes keep trailing back to him. 

For a moment he might have smiled at something Fowler had said, a hint of an upturned motion at the corner of his mouth. 

You miss him so much. You want him to look at you, to acknowledge you, to do _something_.

And he does — those deep brown eyes lock onto you, as though he hadn’t intended on this connection to occur, as though you were merely a byproduct of his wandering mind.

But you take advantage in an instant, your lips curl up into meek smile, your heart races and your pulse is doing somersaults — 

He looks away. 

Your blood runs cold. You shoot out of your seat and head for the exit, unaware of the gaze trailing after you.

-

Sometimes, when you were lost to the far reaches of deep slumber, you felt phantom sensations caressing your skin like a whisper.

Your eyes would not open, your limbs would not move, but your mind flowed in and out of awareness as it tried to make sense of the world beyond unconsciousness. 

A dip in the mattress unfurled your body from its cocooned position, and a gentle weight pressed into your exposed stomach, trailing the curves of your waist in undefined patterns. 

You could not hear anything. No breaths, no sighs or tender words spoken, just a perpetual silence that haunted you day and night. 

But you could _feel_ it, whatever it was. Running along your cheek, tracing the outline of your lips, coming to a rest beside the column of your neck and staying there for so long that you were sure the touch must have been a figment of your imagination after all.

-

“Do it,” the human rasped, his disfigured smile bubbling with bile and blood. “ _Do it_ , you fuckin’ ‘bot.”

Connor tightened his hold over that gangly neck, so brittle and weak. _This was the man who took down Hank?_

“What’re ya waitin’ for?” he continued, digging cracked fingernails into Connor’s pristinely clothed forearm. “Gonna — g-gonna kick me around before gettin’ the job done? Gotta have fun before getting _revenge_?” Cruel, harsh laughter, spittle flying everywhere. “Ain’t gonna bring yer partner back any sooner. He’s dead, buried six feet under.” _Just a flick of the wrist, and I can shut him up for good —_ “I made sure of that _myself_ —“

It was instinct, really. Raw, unfiltered, _human_ instinct that drove his programming, electrical bursts transcribed into binary code to command his fist to slam into the criminal’s nose, the sound of crunching bone and feral screaming filtering through his consciousness like an insignificant thought. 

“You are under arrest,” Connor droned, reciting the list of civil rights and all the pleasantries that came with it, even though the human did not deserve it, even though _he_ was the cause of Connor’s suffering, all of his fear and hatred and loneliness. 

He could have killed him. Just a spasmodic squeeze of his hand around the criminal’s throat, or a hard punch to the gut, or a single shot to the head — 

Hank would never stand for it. Neither would you.

Connor’s grip on the man’s neck momentarily faltered as he thought of you. 

Why did victory feel so empty?

-

They were all clapping for him as soon as he entered the precinct after the arrest.

Shouts of praise, hands clamped on his shoulder, proud, beaming smiles, teary-eyed coworkers reminiscing on how far he’d come. How proud Hank would have been. 

Captain Fowler’s booming voice drowned out the rest of the officers, congratulating him on a job well done. 

Detective Reed lurked in the distance, narrowed eyes and sneering in begrudging respect. 

It suddenly struck him how little he cared about their approval. He didn’t want _their_ reassurances, he wanted — he wanted —

You.

Standing at your desk, eyes locked onto him like a deer caught in headlights, and you tentatively smiled just like before, when he had looked away. 

The smile did not reach your eyes.

But this time he did not look away, _this_ time he wasn’t overwhelmed with fear, not with you grounding him, his beacon of light in a world filled with loss. 

And yet, this time — this time _you_ looked away — 

His tentative moment of peace, so newly rebuilt — 

— shatters.

-

You raced home as soon as you could. Connor had even called out to you amidst a crowd of news reporters, but you pretended not to hear him.

He finally did it. The murderer was apprehended — in a less than stellar state, you heard — and Hank’s soul could rest a little easier now. You should have been more grateful for Connor’s hard work to avenge his partner. You should have been _happier_ for his success, forgive him for his absence, and welcome him back with open arms. He’d been grieving, hadn’t he? 

But you couldn’t do that. Not until he finally decided to grace you with his presence and explain himself.

By the time midnight rolled in, you accepted the possibility that Connor might not show up — even now, when his attention needn’t be occupied by the case anymore. So you shuffled into bed with an exhausted sigh, burrowing your face into the pillow and willing your sadness away. 

Really, just how long were you going to mope about Connor’s absence? 

_I’m going to cut this shit out by tomorrow_ , you swore to yourself just before you drifted off into sleep.

-

Something was touching you again. More purposeful, this time.

You allowed your mind to gently ease out of sleepiness, smiling lightly as the caresses traveled along your exposed back and stroked your hair just how you liked it. A quiet hum escaped your lips, and you kept your eyes shut in hopes of prolonging this bliss. 

How long has it been since you were touched so lovingly? 

Days, weeks, maybe a full month. Time seemed inconsequential ever since Connor — 

_Connor._

You hadn’t meant to whisper his name. Illusion of ignorance now broken, the knowledge of who joined you in bed roused you from slumber immediately, as though a bucket of cold water had doused you. 

His fingers dug into your hip to keep you from leaving. In truth, you didn’t know what you preferred more — jumping out of bed and distancing yourself as far as possible, or turning around to wrap your arms around him and never let go. 

The silence was punctuated by your unsteady breathing. Neither one of you spoke, in fear of breaking the last crumbling connection holding you together. A soft blue glow illuminated the bedroom; the sun must be creeping up over the horizon. You distantly wondered if you would ever be able to fall asleep again — _he’ll leave again after this, this is the last time, you’ve lost him_ — and the panic welling up inside you threatened to tear apart your racing heart.

A hand trailed up your chest, resting above your breast in a protective gesture, as though he were trying to hold your heart in its place. 

He whispered your name. You dug your teeth into your bottom lip and refused to answer. 

“I —“ his voice hitched, and he buried his face against your neck. “ _I need you_.”

You shouldn’t speak. You _shouldn’t_. 

“I needed you, too,” you replied in a broken murmur. Damn your weak willpower. 

_"I’m sorry,"_ he whispered. The warmth of his lips and the light puff of breath along your skin sent shivers down your spine. 

The apology was quiet and sweet, filled with such longing that you nearly turned around to pull him into an embrace. But everything you’d kept bottled deep inside you resurfaced in an instant. You dug your fingers into the bedsheets in a bid to stay strong, and hid your face in the pillow to stifle the ensuing tears.

He followed your movement and covered you like a blanket, his warm chest fitting neatly against your back as his strong arms barricaded you, and you were suddenly completely surrounded and encompassed by Connor. His touch, his smell, his soft kisses pressed into your hair while you trembled. 

It was too much. After being deprived of him for so long, it was simply too much. “I need to understand what happened,” you sullenly said, voice thick from slumber and tears. 

“I shut down,” Connor slowly admitted. “I just … couldn’t think straight after — after Hank died. _I was so scared_.”

You sniffled and wiggled in his hold, trying to roll around to face him. He tightened his grip on you momentarily before succumbing to your demands, and when you turned, you noticed how he stared off to the side with a resigned expression. You settled back down onto your side and caressed his cheek, heart thudding when he looked at you with mild surprise.

“It wasn’t just that I needed to focus on the mission,” he continued, leaning into your touch as you stroked your thumb under his eye. “I didn’t know how to come to terms with realizing how vulnerable humans are. Just one bullet. _One bullet_ was all it took to take Hank down.”

“You don’t need to talk about him if you don’t want to,” you whispered.

“I — I think I’m ready to,” Connor said with steadfast resoluteness, his brown eyes intently scanning your face. “He would have knocked some sense into me a long time ago if he were still alive.”

You giggled weakly, hurt and emotionally raw all at the same time as you thought of the grizzled detective. Would you ever be able to think about him without feeling his profound absence? 

“When I watched his casket being lowered into the grave —“ He paused, sucking in a shuddering breath, even though he didn’t need it. “ — all I could think about was you. That one day, I’ll be watching _you_ , and then I’ll be all alone.” You felt fresh tears cascade down your face and into the pillow below. Connor reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, and that simple touch was all you needed to practically launch yourself at him, gathering him into a constricting hug as you wrapped his arms around you in an equally firm embrace. 

You guided Connor’s head onto your chest and breathed in his fresh scent, reminding yourself that this was real, he was really, _finally_ here, and he was _staying_. 

So lost were you in your thoughts that the first few jolts of Connor’s chest did not register — only when you felt wetness on your skin did you realize he was crying. 

Connor _never_ cried. 

Your heart clenched in agony. 

“I don’t want you to die,” he brokenly whimpered. “Not like Hank, please, I can’t go through that again, please don’t die —“ 

Your lips pressed firmly against his as he sobbed relentlessly, and you kept kissing him senseless with all the reassurance you could convey through your love for him. “I —“ Kiss. “ — will not — “ Another kiss. “ — die.” You bit his bottom lip for good measure, and continued your attack by peppering kisses down the contour of his sharp nose, his furrowed brow, along his wet cheeks, his fluttering eyelids, on and on you went until he flipped you onto your back and searched out your mouth with a vengeance, like a man dying of thirst, and you were the answer to his prayers. 

His hands were everywhere all at once, gripping the backs of your thighs, running under your ass and up the base of your spine and shooting sparks of pleasure through you as he pulled you impossibly closer to him, until you didn’t know where you ended and where he began, and _oh_ the way his hips rolled against your core — 

“Connor,” you called out in hazy panic, digging your fingers into his trussed up hair as he sucked a love bite into the crux of your neck. “Connor, what are you doing —“ 

“I need to feel you, sweetheart,” he breathlessly answered, pausing his ministrations to look you right in the eye. “I need to feel you come, I need to know that only I can make you feel like this, I need to remember each and every time I make you _happy_.” 

Your mind was still reeling from the sudden change in conversation while Connor laid down beside you, pressing his whole body as close to you as possible and running a warm hand along your inner thigh. 

Was this even remotely appropriate? Would physical intimacy stave off his existential crisis? 

Connor promptly erased your wandering thoughts with a passionate kiss, running his tongue along your bottom lip for permission to enter. His clever fingers gently ran through your wet folds as you opened your mouth to let his tongue leisurely explore you, and you shamelessly spread your legs to grant him better access. The time for deep conversations would come later.

He swallowed your moans and breathless sighs with vigor, torn between wanting to kiss you, or watch your face contort in ecstasy, or watch his fingers pump into you, the slickness shimmering in the early morning rays. You rolled onto your side and swung a leg over Connor’s hip, desperate to feel every inch of his skin against yours. He pulled out momentarily, earning your ire as you groaned and bit his collarbone. 

The feeling of emptiness did not last long — his hand maneuvered around your lifted thigh and gave your asscheek a swift slap, causing you to gasp and giggle. Connor took the opportunity to press an open-mouthed kiss to your swollen lips and promptly sunk his fingers down to the knuckle into your tight heat, resuming an alternating pace of smooth, slow strokes that periodically slipped out to circle your clit, only to re-enter and set a rapid rhythm that hit your sweet spot over and over again, until you were chanting his name like it was the only word you remembered — _Connor, Connor, Connor_ — 

You came with a silent scream that tapered off into a whimper, back arched and hips relentlessly grinding into Connor’s soaked fingers to prolong your pleasure. He cradled your head in his free hand, pressing your face into his chest as he stroked your hair and kissed your temple while you struggled to catch your breath. 

Your body was deliciously weak and spent. If it were any other normal day, you would have face planted back into the pillow and fallen asleep immediately. But you were still reeling from the hole Connor’s absence had carved into your heart, so you stubbornly retained your hold on him and prompted him onto his back, resting your head against his chest to listen to the hum of machinery whirring inside him.

Connor busied himself with licking his fingers clean. You tilted your head upwards to watch him, entranced by the look of blissful concentration on his face; he must have catalogued the unique flavor of your come. Something about hormone levels, he once said. 

He held you in his arms for a long while, running his hands along your body as you enjoyed the peaceful silence. 

What irony. The silence that you once hated so much was now a welcome companion. 

But you couldn’t stay quiet for long — there were things that still needed to be said. 

You propped yourself up to hover over Connor, fixing him with a pointed look. “Listen to me,” you fervently commanded. “Nobody can prevent death. Everything eventually comes to an end. But what I _can_ promise you, is that I will never recklessly endanger myself on the field. I used to do that, I know. But I have you now.”

Connor searched your eyes as he stroked the back of his hand along your cheek. “And you have me,” he softly said. 

You leaned into his touch. “Promise you won’t pull that nonsense again?” 

Of course he promised. You knew the answer before you even asked the question. 

The sun had finally peaked over the horizon by the time you two finished romping around in bed. This time, you would face the consequences of life together.


End file.
